


Batman: The Brutality of KGBeast

by TowerofBabel



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Deathstroke - Freeform, Gen, KGBeast vs Red Robin, Multi, Nightwing - Freeform, Other, Red Robin is beaten to a pulp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowerofBabel/pseuds/TowerofBabel
Summary: After Red Robin (Drake) returns Prof. Hugo Strange to Arkham Asylum after Strange aided in Tim's health crises (Tim had been temporarily paralyzed after his Future Self came back to kill him), Red Robin is attacked just outside of Arkham by KGBeast, the assassin who tried to murder Nightwing with a bullet to the head. KGBeast failed and his street credibility has been tarnished. He needs to make up for his failure and decides to take out his frustrations on Red Robin. Firefly, another of the Rogue's, also joins the fray, and aids in the brutality.
Kudos: 3





	Batman: The Brutality of KGBeast

Once things were settled at Arkham Asylum, Red Robin left the prison and mounted his motorcycle parked just outside the main gates. On a secure audio channel, he contacted Alfred. "Red Robin to Mother Hen…"

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that in open dialogue," Alfred said. Red Robin laughed. "All went as planned, sir?"

"Like a dream. And according to Hugo Strange, that's all it will be. Thank Slade and Pixie for me again, if they haven't already left?"

"Will do, sir. Will you be coming back home now?"

"Yup. Any luck in contracting Batman and the others on Treasure Island?"

"Negative, but according to the homing beacon in the Batplane, they did land without incident."

"I want to see if I can join them."

"Is that wise, sir? You still need to recover. You're not at one-hundred percent."

"I feel great, never better. I do feel a pang of regret, however, in using Hugo like we did. And we won't even be able to reward him, because his memory was erased of events."

"We'll send him some flowers and a thank-you card," Alfred said facetiously.

Red Robin laughed. "Or maybe a colouring book with some crayons," he said humorously.

"Didn't you give something similar to Master Dick on his birthday last year, sir? He didn't take kindly to that."

"Well, he deserved it. He was acting like an overly protective parent, like he does sometimes."

"He was only protecting you and your future."

"By filling my wallet with condoms? I was dating a great girl, and yes, we were thinking about it, but when half a dozen condoms dropped out of my wallet surprisingly, she was shocked as was I. Just because Dick—well, you know, he's a womanizer, or was, before he and Barbara got back together—had a scare with another woman thinking she was pregnant when she said she was _late_ , doesn't mean he has to be Mother Hen 2.0." Alfred was silent. "Sorry, we need a better callsign for you. Suffice it to say, I got a call to jump into action and we couldn't get together. I later found out she was seeing another guy on the side anyway."

"So, it all worked out, as it often does, sir. See you back home soon. Out."

The communication ended. Red Robin switched on the cycle, revved it up, and then sped off down the road. He decided to take a backroad, knowing there would be little traffic. This way he could push the cycle to its max and get some speed and go for a joyride before heading back home. He had taken it several times, so it was familiar to him.

Suddenly, there was a blow out, and the front wheel of his cycle exploded. It was such a powerful explosion that it affected the safety systems that would quickly adjust, instantly inflating the tire. Red Robin found himself flying over the front of the cycle as the tire rim carved into the payment, causing it to flip over. He hit the ground hard and then rolled, coming to lay on his back.

He groaned, and it felt like every muscle in his body was just hit by a sledgehammer. He lay there still, but at least he could still feel, unlike feeling the effects of the Neuro-Diffuser, which was nothing. He wondered what the hell happened as he craned his neck up.

Suddenly a leg stomped on his chest, and he cried out in pain. He looked up and saw a man in black armour with a mask holding a long-range sniper rifle.  
He gasped when he realized who it was—the second sniper in Jake Handles plot to destroy Nightwing: _KGBeast—Anatoil Knyazev_.

He was a former Russian agent in the KGB, an assassin from the East, hence, supposedly, his namesake. He was also known in other circles as EB, (as in _EveryBody's_ deadliest assassin; the go-to mercenary more often than most; their primary choice because of his reputation to get things done, according to Batman's information).

The KGB no longer existed in its previous form. It was fractured after the fall of old Russia into what is known today as the FSB (the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation) and the Foreign Intelligence Service.

EB's self-proclaimed number one status angered others, but he always got his target, which was why he was so highly sought out. Even more than Deathstroke.

"Well, another Robin out for a joyride," came his masked, cybernetic voice. "So, tell me, boy—where is the original Boy Wonder? I have some unfinished business with him. Nightwing has officially, at this point, become the _bane_ of my existence."

* * *

Red Robin's face cringed as the heel of EB's boot dug down into his chest, but he refused to cry out. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. But every time Red Robin tried to push him off, EB would just dig in deeper, and it felt like his ribs were about to break.

Finally, the other shooter who attacked Nightwing, had come out of hiding. One of two: Deathstroke had been the other, and had admitted it, even apologized. Unfortunately now, Red Robin had become the target of this other assassin's focus.

But as for the why? He hadn't even had the chance to ask yet.

"I'll ask again, boy—Where is Nightwing?" EB's voice reverberated mechanically. "I want him!"

Through clenched teeth, Red Robin swore. He wasn't the kind to use profanities—in fact, he even chastised Jason and Damian for swearing, he just didn't like the words—but this time it was warranted. And he couldn't help it. The words just shot out from his mouth with a mixture of angry, hatred, and pain.

Red Robin heard what could only be considered a short laugh from EB. Right afterwards, the sadistic villain removed his foot, and Red Robin gasped for breath.  
But the relief was only temporarily, as EB unexpectedly came down hard on Red Robin's right hand.

This time Red Robin screamed, he couldn't help it, and he thought he heard the crack of one or more of his fingers, as the pain surged sharply up to his brain. It was so intense that he thought he would pass out. But he fought it and refused to black out. He grit his teeth and was able to keep conscious. When EB's foot released, Red Robin folded over on his side and was allowed to cradle his broken fingers. Uncontrolled tears screamed down his face underneath his mask.

"I was paid a lot of money to shoot Nightwing," EB said. "But then something more enticing came along and plans changed."

"Jake Handles…" Red Robin breathed out.

EB made a noise that sounded like impressed acknowledgement. "Correct. But now I have to make restitution to my previous hire. He's breathing down my neck because I took his money, but didn't fitful the contract. To a man in my line of work, that is unacceptable. I thought I would get the ultimate payday in doing both jobs simultaneously, but that fool Jakes Handles—he also calls himself some stupid name like Annex—failed to do what he said he would, namely destroy Nightwing. His reasons; his own."

"Not, my, problem," Red Robin voiced brokenly, the pain subsiding only slightly. "But I know how you did it." And he explained in short about the fake bullet and the device inside to render Nightwing seemingly dead and then the implants in Nightwing's brain to make him forget everything, giving he amnesia for a short time. It was Jake Handles ultimate revenge of his own rendering, but Drake still didn't have the full story. "You were not the only one Jake Handles hired. Deathstroke was hired for the same job as a safe fail, just in case the plan went awry. If either one of you failed, the other would complete the mission, unbeknown to the other."

"Smart, but it didn't work, did it?" It was not a question, but a statement. "I don't care who else was involved. But when I was told Nightwing made a full recovery, it became a problem for me. I can't have my targets surviving. It's bad for my reputation."

Red Robin went to sit up. "Again, not my problem," he said. "Go cry in someone else's milk."

EB snorted angrily and then stomped on Red Robin's left ankle. Red Robin cried out. First his chest, then his right hand, now his left ankle, and he was still feeling the effects from the fall off his motorcycle. His entire body cried out in pain, and he failed to bring any pain meds with him. He never thought he'd need them. For a split moment, he wished Hugo Strange hadn't fixed him.

EB stood over him, his cybernetic enhancements giving him a god facade. Trained as a KGB agent before the fall of the USSR, he knew where to hurt people the most. "My previous employer has threatened to expose me, to tell everyone that I can't get the job done," he said. "That cannot happen. I am aware that Nightwing, Batman, Batgirl, and another, left on the Batplane some time ago. They must not be allowed to return. And I want to know where they went."

"Drop dead," Red Robin said, nursing his injuries. "I'm not telling you anything!"

He pulled himself back from EB, dragging his butt along the ground. He needed to get some distance from this cybernetic psycho. The GPS in his cycle was still working, and he knew Alfred would be manning the Batcomputer. Once he saw that it hadn't moved in some time, he'd send back-up. Then Drake realized: everyone was away, and had headed to Treasure Island to rescue Damian. There was no one to call for backup from the Batfamily. He was on his own.

He suddenly stopped short when EB's left forearm transformed into a personalized laser canon and it was pointed directly at him.

Red Robin gulped nervously. He was in its direct line of fire. From where EB stood, the villain could easily disintegrate him with one blast without a trace of his body left. There would be nothing but a blast mark on the ground where he sat.

Once again, EB's cybernetic enhancements proved deity-like.

He had been given a gun in lieu of a left forearm from Russian augmentation. Over the years, as technology advanced by leaps and bounds, EB was able to adapt, and gave himself the ability to transform his left arm into any weapon of his choosing, including a normal hand, using liquid metal technology, hardening it, with internal power cells to create energy blasts.

"Since Nightwing is MIA at the moment, you'll have to be restitution to my employer, and I'm sure he can make use of you," EB said. "Hopefully, all will be forgiven. I've heard that you have also been a thorn in my employer's side over the years."

Red Robin looked up the barrel of EB's laser canon, but he remained calm. Once the initial shock had left, and the pain from his injuries replaced with determination, even anger, he said: "Who is your employer? And why did he want to murder Nightwing?"

EB laughed mechanically. "You're angry, good. I like it when my prey has spirit. I wish I could play with you longer, but I'm a little pressed for time. Who is my employer, you ask? I already mentioned his name, but in another context. Whatever Bane's reason is for hiring me to kill Nightwing is none of my concern. I'm a mercenary, that's what I do. Now, you're coming with me."

"The hell I am!"

Red Robin lunged at EB despite the laser canon pointing at him. But he only got so far, and fell over due to his injured ankle. He, however, caught himself with his left hand before hitting the ground, dropping to both knees.

He felt, at that moment, he was indeed at the mercy of this maniac. But he also knew that it was either attack or be abducted and taken back to Bane, who, at one point in time, had broken Batman's back. If Bane could do that, what horrors awaited Drake?

The large muscular Spaniard villain had an affinity and a sadistic desire to inflict pain upon others out of pleasure. He was a butcherer and liked to torture his victims as they begged for mercy. Bane's history wasn't fully known, but Batman learned what he could over the years about him, piecing things together. The man was physically enhanced with the Venom drug—but hadn't used it much due to its toxic effects. He was built like a six-hundred pound wrestler with muscles to match, which made him a forcible enemy in his own rite, physically. His hatred towards Batman stemmed from pure evil.

If Bane originally hired EB to kill Nightwing, then that brought yet another element to this saga.

As for Drake's dilemma, both Bruce and Dick had taught him multiple ways to both defend and attack collectively, even when injured. So, falling back on that training, Drake lifted himself up on his good hand, balanced himself with a one-handed hand-stand, his muscles infused with strength, and delivered a well positioned and powerful upper-kick to EB's face with his good leg, kicking the villain hard in the face, and forcing him back. Drake even heard a cling as his steel tip boot clashed against EB's metal mask.

Drake landed safely and without further injury. But with every move, he began to notice he was breathing more heavy, and he was losing blood. The injuries he sustained from falling off his bike: scratches, and a deep gash on his left cheek, was beginning to take their toil, along with what EB inflicted. Ironically, he didn't have to worry about the bruise Pixie gave him anymore.

EB staggered back, both shocked and bewildered. He acted more human than machine and felt his cybernetic enhanced face, rubbing his chin. He snorted a laugh. "Nice kick, bird boy. If I'm not mistaken, you've made a dent in my face."

"I can do more than that," Red Robin retorted. "I know all your weaknesses."

"Do you now? Then I better stop playing around."

Suddenly, EB delivered a quick and devastating roundhouse kick of his own, to Red Robin's head, and sent Drake flying through the air, landing hard, and sliding backwards, rolling a few meters, with blood ejecting from his mouth.

EB transformed his canon back to into a hand and tossed his rifle to his left hand. He then transversed the distance he sent Red Robin, reaching down, and grabbing him by one of his crossing belt straps, hauled him up face-to-face, dangling his feet just above the ground—EB had a good two feet on Drake—and then pulled back and tossed Drake like a rag doll down the road.

Drake flew through the air like he was piece of garbage, landed hard, and then rolled several times, landing on his stomach.

He moaned when he finally stopped. Every part of his body felt like it had sustained injury. And not only did his broken fingers feel numb, but he couldn't feel his arm either. It was possibly dislocated and he was in shock.

He couldn't believe the sudden and abrupt change of events. He had become paralyzed from the waist down by the Neuro-Diffuser, by his future self, only for Hugo Strange to render a solution and to rectify the problem medically. But now, he had the same feeling of powerlessness and immobility in dealing with EB—and he couldn't move.

He could taste the metallic iron of blood in his mouth and he knew his face was cut in more than a couple of places now, namely his cheeks and chin. Blood streamed down the front of his mask from an injury above his right brow. And from the toss, and from the way he had landed, he felt that a rib or two had been broken, along with his left ankle twisted in such an odd abnormal angle.

As EB came to stand next to him, he could do nothing to stop him from doing what he wanted. Luck was not on Drake's side this time. Red Robin moved his fingers of his right hand, the only body part that he felt still had some feeling and tried, with the last of his strength, to stop EB. But EB pressed down on his hand with a foot and Red Robin cried out once more.

"You are weak, Red Robin," the villain said. "What a pity you didn't turn out to be more game for me. Injured or not, I still intend to take you to Bane. Only then, will you learn your fate. And you don't have a choice in the matter."

" _No…_ "

The last thing Red Robin saw was EB's foot as it kicked him in the face, and the world went dark.

* * *

KGBeast stood over his beaten prey. The battered and bloodied Red Robin was no match for his strength and ability. He had caught the hero unawares—attacking from the shadows, which was not how he liked to do things; he liked a more hands on approach—but it was fine with him. It was cheaply done, but it was a necessary one. He needed an olive branch to smooth things over with Bane, or the Spaniard threatened to rip his limbs off for his betrayal. So, delivering one of the Robins to him would assuredly do that.

Bane wanted to murder Nightwing, his reasons were his own, but to cross Bane was, in itself, a death sentence.

KGBeast retrieved his own motorcycle that he had hidden in the near-by forest in wait to ambush Red Robin, and brought it onto the road, parking it near the fallen hero. Thinking back, he had followed Red Robin, and tracked him, when he first saw the hero as he headed to Arkham Asylum, along this route with the man known as Hugo Strange strapped to his cycle. And in deciding then, he lay in wait, knowing Red Robin would be back this way, because it was the most recluse route.

No motorcycle enthusiast missed a chance to let loose over an open road. It was just the mindset of anyone who rode one—including himself. He had only recently taken to riding his own customized, styled motorcycle, that had all the appearance of a racing bike: red, with chrome trim, and a host of features. Recently, however, he had been having some internal issues with it, and someone of his acquittance and an expert in such things was supposed to keep it in perfect working order for him.

He mounted the bike, turned it on, held the clutch above the left grip, and then pushed down on the kick-starter with his right foot. Nothing happened. He tried it again, checking the fuel injection, but again, it failed to start.

He cursed loudly in Russian.

Just then, he heard a noise that sounded a lot like a miniature jet engine. He looked up, and the moment he did, a man, who looked much like a winged insect, wearing a completely black but aerodynamic flight suit, with a jet pack strapped to his back, came flying over the trees, and touched down on the road near him. KGBeast didn't know him all that well, but he was, in fact, the acquittance who maintained his motorcycle, his mechanic, and who had supped it up with all its bells and whistles he requested.

"Having trouble with the bike," Firefly inquired, almost with a humorous tone.

KGBeast growled mechanically. "You were supposed to fix the issue with the starter, you wretched insect," he said. "I am pressed for time, and I wish to deliver Red Robin to Bane. These continuous mechanical issues with the bike are a nuisance. Fix it, _now!_ "

Firefly said, as he bent down to take a look at the bike, "Hold your horses. These babies are delicate. You can't rough them up like your little plaything over there," and he indicated Red Robin, who was laying unconscious on the road.

Firefly had an affinity in machinery and working with his hands, once being an expert in pyrotechnics and special-effects, before adapting and using his talents to begin a moderate criminal career. Mechanically inclined, he knew how to custom-build things, and that included his suit and jet-pack, which had him become a thorn in Batman's side for many years.

He had actually convinced KGBeast that he needed a vehicle to get him from A to B, building the bike for him, because walking everywhere was time consuming, and "every great man needed a custom ride".

It didn't take long for Firefly to find the issue and fix it, the motorcycle then revved up without issue. "There, easy as squashing a bug," he said, standing up. He looked at Red Robin. "Speaking of annoyances…"

"Why are you here, Firefly?" KGBeast asked, securing his rifle into the custom slot on the side of the bike Firefly had designed for it.

"I was bored, so I followed you from a safe distance to see what you were up to, because I know how you like to work: solo. It was a good thing I did, too. And I'm not referring to the bike problem, although both issues do, kind of, coincide with each other."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll give you a minute to think about it," Firefly said, and then began to hum the Jeopardy theme song. KGBeast was not a patient man and he growled angrily at Firefly. Firefly put up his hands in capitulation. "Okay. Well, your bike is a custom one-seater. You want to take Red Robin back to Bane. See the problem there? You're a very smart guy, EB, but some things are unattainable."

"What did you call me?"

Firefly paused. "Um, EB—as in 'EveryBody's Assassin'—why? It's a cute little nickname people in my neck of the woods call you."

KGBeast reached out and clutched Firefly by the neck collar of his flight suit, literally causing Firefly to start choking. "I know of the name, it's an insult! Never call it to my face again! It's KGBeast. If you call me that again, I'll shove that jet pack up your ass!"

"Fine, never again," Firefly relented. "And I'll pass that on to everyone else that you hate it. Got it!" KGBeast released him. And Firefly had to catch his balance as he stumbled back. KGBeast was a tall man and Firefly was average in height. "Anyway, let me take Red Robin to Bane. I can fly him to _El Patio de los Demons_ , aka The Devil's Playground, Bane's Hispanic hideaway in Gotham, in no time flat. And don't worry, I'll make sure Bane knows he's coming from you. He did hire us both, he likes reliable people, and I know the whole Nightwing deal. He's pissed off with you. Yet I'm sure delivering this kid to him will better things between you."

"I am hoping that, as well," KGBeast said.

Firefly went over to Red Robin, reached down, picked him up, then he saw all the blood. He dropped the kid and looked at his gloved hands. "Oh man, come on! Did you really have to bloody him up this bad? I'm going to need to have my flight suit industrially dry cleaned after this—I'll send you the bill." He looked back at KGBeast, and wherever the light glint came from that flashed over the villain's optical eye, it made him looked like evil personified. "Okay, forget the dry cleaning. I'll eat the cost."

Firefly reached down, grabbed Red Robin's limp form under both armpits, activated his jetpack with a hand trigger, and then blasted into the sky, and away.  
KGBeast watched the man-insect-villain soar through the air like his insectile namesake, and for a moment wondered what it would be like to fly. But then the sudden thought passed. He would rather stay on the ground.

An anger suddenly swelled up inside him. He wanted to be the one to personally deliver Red Robin over to Bane. It would go a long way in reconciliation. He didn't wish to make an enemy of Bane.

He had the perfect opportunity here and had ambushed Red Robin. But he overlooked one oversight—his own bike.

He growled under his breath, his mask reverberating his anger. Subconsciously transforming his left arm back into the laser canon, he aimed it at Red Robin's cycle and blasted it into pieces, sending scores of debris into the air and in every direction, leaving a massive scorch mark on the ground where the blast made impact.

He did one last thing, then sped off down the road on his motorcycle, leaving the area.

**Author's Note:**

> From my Batman Novel: Nightwing Junior (Chapters 36/37)


End file.
